


Lost and Found

by LadyoftheWoods



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Angst, Blood and Injury, Captivity, Fae Anxiety | Virgil Sanders, Heavy Angst, Hurt Anxiety | Virgil Sanders, Hurt/Comfort, Mild torture, Morally Neutral Deceit | Janus Sanders, Nightmares, Poisoning, Protective Dark Creativity | Remus "The Duke" Sanders, Protective Logic | Logan Sanders, Restraints, Sick Anxiety | Virgil Sanders, Sympathetic Anxiety | Virgil Sanders, Sympathetic Dark Creativity | Remus "The Duke" Sanders, Sympathetic Logic | Logan Sanders, changlings, janus starts unsympathetic but becomes sympathetic, referenced patton sanders, referenced roman sanders
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-21
Updated: 2021-02-05
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:14:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 17,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28204431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyoftheWoods/pseuds/LadyoftheWoods
Summary: Virgil is a fae who gets caught in a hunter's trap.Little does the hunter believe they're on the same side.
Comments: 33
Kudos: 146





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Guys this was supposed to be a quick one shot and it's now going to be over 40 pages. 
> 
> This is super angsty, you've been warned. Our emo has a real bad time.

“Well, look what the cat dragged in.” The fae hissed in response, glaring at him, from where he was stuck. “Come now, don’t I get a wish, for catching such a pretty thing?” The fae hissed again, baring its teeth in a snarl, undercut by the brief spasm of pain that shot across his face. “Nothing to say?” 

“Let. Me. Go.” The fae hissed, eyes sparking with ire, and he chuckled, circling the fae, who’s shoulders tensed, though he didn’t turn his head to follow him, hands digging into the dirt. 

“Well now, that’s a laugh and a half. Why ever would I do that? Fae are rare enough, as it is. You, my dear, will fetch a pretty penny.” The fae’s breathing caught for a moment, fear washing through him, he could feel it. But by the time he circled back around, the fae was staring up at him, eyes aglow and defiant, no trace of anything but anger and ferocity. 

“I will kill you.” The fae uttered, a shiver almost running up his spine. Fae couldn’t lie. That didn’t mean what they said was the truth, of course, they could twist words and meanings and lead one in circles. But that statement? The fae at least believed it to be true. 

“Oh, you can try. Plenty of others already have. As you can tell, no one’s yet succeeded. You’re not the first to threaten me, and I’m sure you won’t be the last. Now, are you going to cooperate, or should I just leave you here, for something else to find?” 

“Fuck off.” The fae snarled, and he shrugged, smile sickeningly sweet. 

“As you wish.” He turned and walked away. He’d check back in an hour or two, see if the cheeky little thing had changed his mind by then. He whistled a jaunty tune as he left, just to annoy the fae more, rewarded by another distant hiss.   
…  
He hissed, as the whistling faded into the distance, slumping back onto the ground, trying to brace himself against the burning pain eating into his ankle. 

It was a snare. A stupid, idiotic, human made snare trap, made of iron. The teeth were clamped tight around his ankle, digging into his flesh, a trickle of blood running down his leg, though ironically, the clamp was stopping most of the bleeding. 

No, what was causing most of the pain was the iron. Iron was poison to the fae, it was deadly in large enough amounts or exposure times. And right now, it was pumping directly into his blood stream. It burned, in his veins, and he could feel it spreading through him, sickening him, weakening him. 

He’d already been caught in it for a few hours, before the human showed up, he was already weak enough he couldn’t use his magic, couldn’t summon more than a few sparks to his hands, and even that was too much. 

The human certainly knew what he was doing. The trap had been warded well, hiding it completely from his senses. That was almost scarier than actually being caught, the fact that the human had clearly done this before and wasn’t at all afraid of him.

And he was alone. No one was coming looking for him, no one would find him trapped out here and free him, no one would find him. He’d already sent out a cry for help, when he’d first gotten caught, and no one had come. Of course no one came, of course the one person who might, was busy or out of reach, the one time he needed him. 

He winced at a muscle spasm that sent the snare digging deeper into his skin, he could feel it pressing against his bone, threatening to break or shatter it. Even if he managed to get the clamp off, he couldn’t get far. With the iron still in his system, he wouldn’t be able to use his power, he wouldn’t be able to heal, he’d probably only make it a few yards before he passed out. 

He closed his eyes, nails digging into the earth, trying to focus on something, anything, other than the pain pulsing through him, the burning throb eating away at his thoughts. He wouldn’t give in. He would die, before he gave in.   
…  
He heard a low whistle. It cut through the haze in his mind, the cotton clouding his senses. 

“Looking a little worse for wear, aren’t we?” He couldn’t find it in him to respond with anything other than a weak hiss. His head pounded, and he could feel sweat beading across his forehead. He felt cold and shivery, his stomach churning, fire flooding through him. 

He blearily blinked open his eyes, at a hand gripping his chin, forcing his head up, mismatched honey brown and glittering gold eyes burning into his. Something about those eyes… 

“Are we ready to admit defeat, or shall I see if you’re still breathing tomorrow?” He managed to bare his teeth, though his vision swam as the human shoved away, back to his feet. 

“What… do you want?” He growled, though his chest felt tight. 

“Oh, getting curious? What I want is really quite simple. What I want is your name. Once you give me that, this can all be over.” The human purred, and he wanted so badly for the pain to end, but he knew distantly, that his name was the most valuable thing he possessed, that if he gave it up, he gave up his very essence. 

“no.” he rasped, glaring up at the human, still trapped in his eyes, he couldn’t parse together where he knew those eyes from. “I w-won’t.” The human’s eyes went cold, and his smile went sharp. 

“You are a hard one to crack, aren’t you? Most give in by now. Perhaps I should apply a bit more pressure.” He choked on a scream, as the clamp was pried open, blinding agony rushing through him as the metal was removed from his flesh, blood seeping out of the deep bite marks on his ankle, and he snarled, trying to fight back against the human, trying to shove him away, but the human just laughed, shoving him back. “Such persistence. You’re a fighter, that’s more than I can say for most of your kind.” He couldn’t bite back his strangled scream this time, as the human casually leaned forwards, applying pressure to his ankle injury, spots dancing before his vision. “Name. Now.” The human growled, and he gasped in a breath, shaking. He wouldn’t. He wouldn’t, he would die, before he let any human have his name.

“No.” He forced out, back arching at the blinding agony that crashed over him, stealing his breath, darkness encroaching on his vision, those eyes leering down at him, and he finally realized, where he knew those eyes from. 

“changeling.” He gasped out, the human’s eyes widening, something almost akin to shock flashing across his face. He could see it now, in the curve of his lips, the fire in his soul, the chocolate of his brown eye, the glimmering light in his golden. 

Yes, this was a human who had been deemed special, by the fae. Who had been whisked out of his crib when he was a boy, stolen away from his family, and raised in the fae lands. Or, that had been the plan, clearly something had gone wrong, if he was here, threatening to kill him. The human’s face twisted into a sneer. 

“Not quite. They tried to take me, but my parents were clever. They knew the signs. They protected me. Watched me, watched out for them. But somehow, the slipped through the cracks. They snatched me. And killed my parents. But they hadn’t figured out all the charms, they’d protected me with. They couldn’t take me back, with them. I couldn’t cross between worlds. So they left me.   
Left me, outside my dark house, with my dead family, and no regard for my well being at all, now that I was of no interest to them. It’s why I take a great amount of pleasure from situations like this, where I hold the power, and you can do nothing.   
You have no regard for humans. So I have no regard for you.” He didn’t have time, to argue back, to counter, to prove otherwise, before the pain blew up against his skull and the world went dark.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Help is on the way, and things get worse for the emo

He twirled his moustache, leaning against his night black horse, a satisfied air about him as he looked out over the burning fields. Oh, there was nothing quite like setting everything ablaze and watching it burn, to nothing but ash. Really cleared the mind. 

It helped, of course, that this had been a tent village of pillagers, barbarians, the reek of death permanently surrounding them, blood staining their clothes, laughing and joking and mocking those that they killed and stole from, those they enslaved from the villages they destroyed. 

He’d set them free, of course, any survivors he found, any refugees. They were almost as terrified of him as they were of the raiders, waiting only for him to point them in the direction of the nearest town, before fleeing with whatever provisions they could find. 

He didn’t blame them. He fancied he cut quite the terrifying figure, a dark silhouette riding a black horse, come to wreak vengeance and destruction. Not just anyone could take out an entire encampment of raiders single handedly, after all. 

The thought made him smile, he was feeling rather smug today, it seemed, rather self satisfied, and why shouldn’t he be? The raiders had barely had time to raise the alarm, before he was striking them down, and he’d heard their fearful cries, when they spotted him. They knew, who he was. 

A revenent, an avenging angel, a demon, the devil himself, or perhaps Death’s right hand, he’d lost track of all his titles, those who spoke them did so in hushed whispers, afraid their speech would summon him to their doorstep. 

“You did mighty fine yourself. Doing me proud, Thunder.” He commented, fishing an apple out of his bag and letting his horse munch on it, his ferocious mare flicking her ears in delight. 

‘Remus…’ He whirled around, weapon drawn, though no one was there. No movement anywhere to be seen, perhaps it had just been a whisper of the wind, perhaps it was his imagination. Not like anyone knew his name, around here, anyways. 

‘help… please… Remus…” Faint, but stronger this time. He got a flash, of forest, of metal, of trapped, the sense of fear and weakness and pain. Then it was gone, as if it had never happened. 

Oh, but he knew better, and he swore, mounting Thunder easily and sending her crashing through the underbrush, in a headlong sprint. It wasn’t sustainable, he knew it, but he was so far from the call, sprints with short rests were the only way he would ever reach it in time. 

If he wasn’t already too late. The images replayed over in his mind, a heavy, leaden feeling settling into his chest, as he drove Thunder onwards as fast as she could go. He cursed into the wind once more, wishing the connection had stayed open, that he could assure his Stormcloud he was coming. 

What had the fool fae gotten himself into?  
…  
He hurt. That was all he was capable of comprehending, was that he hurt. His leg pounded in time with his pulse, though he could feel bandages wrapped around it. He tried to move, another wash of achiness pulsing through him as he managed to sit up, to peel his eyes open. 

There was a collar, around his neck, and a chain from that attached to his wrists, which were bound behind him in shackles, another chain attaching those to the shackles around his ankles, all of which were attached to a metal loop on the floor. He couldn’t move without pulling on one of his apendages painfully, the only semi comfortable position was kneeling.

He could feel the raw redness of his flesh, under each binding, more iron, keeping him weak as kitten, not to mention he hadn’t had anything to eat or drink in the last… well, at least a day. Probably two, if not three. The fact that he was alive at all was a bit of a surprise, he expected to be dead by now. 

“Look who’s awake. Surprised it took this long, honestly.” He blinked, vision clearing, realizing he was in a house, a surprisingly cozy house, except for the iron chaining him to the floor, the iron birdcage like structure he was confined in, even the floor under him was iron, and it set his teeth on edge, his bones vibrating with it, aching with it. 

He glared up at the human, who was looking at him from over his shoulder, a book open before him on a simple hardwood table. There was a pot boiling on the fireplace, the scent of stew filling the air, and it nearly made his mouth water. He was starving, his stomach burned with emptiness, he didn’t know the last time he’d had an actual meal to begin with. 

“Nothing to say?” The human taunted, coming crossing the room, looking down at him with a raised brow, a smug smirk, and he bared his teeth, futily pulling at the chains, which simply bit into his skin, burning into him. “Apparently not.” The human turned away dissmissivly, going to the pot and spooning stew into two bowls. He set the first one down, just outside the bars, just out of reach, before biting into his own and making a satisfied hum. “Delightful. There’s really nothing like a warm stew to ward off the autumn chill. Not to mention the meat gets all soft and tender, the vegetables cook down and dissolve in your mouth, quite perfect and wonderfully filling.” Those eyes flashed at him, and he scowled, looking away. It hurt, to keep his head up, the collar bit into his flesh more, in that position, and he could already feel the chafing drawing blood. He heard the human walking away, and let his shoulders relax slightly. He’d gone back to his reading, for now.   
…  
“I’m sorry.” He looked up, at the fae’s croaked words, though his head was hanging low, exhaustion and pain written across every line of his body. It was the first thing the fae had said since he’d woken, and nearly the entire day had passed, the sun just setting. It puzzled him. He hadn’t ever heard a fae apologize, so he slowly closed his book with a loud thump, crossing the space to the iron cage, leaning against the edge of the fireplace. 

“Come again?” He asked, voice dangerously cold. The fae looked up, meeting his eyes, though his own nearly electric violet eyes were now dim and dark, hazy from the iron no doubt. 

“I’m sorry. For what happened to your family. What happened to you.” His eyes harden and he sneers. 

“Wonderful. I’m so glad you got that off your conscious. Such a heartfelt and wonderful apology, I hope you’re proud.” He clapped his hands sarcastically, the fae wincing. 

“I understand it. More than you’d think. Human children aren’t the only ones lost to the changeling trade, and human families aren’t the only ones who suffer for it.” He snarled, yanking on the chain that bound the fae, pulling against the bars. 

He could see the pain on his face, as the pure iron of the bars burned into his face, the collar hissing against his skin, cutting off his air, and he felt his viciousness rise to the surface. 

“Don’t pretend to know a thing about what it is like. Don’t presume to know a thing about what I have been through, what I have lost, to your kind. Now. I was trying to have patience, let you have time to come to your senses and realize fully your predicament, here at my mercy. But perhaps we haven’t learned that lesson properly yet.” 

The fae’s eyes widened, as he swiftly stabbed the needle into his side, letting go and watching it take effect with a satisfied smile. 

The effect was almost immediate. The fae collapsed to the ground, breath wheezing in and out, writhing on the floor, struggling and fighting his restraints, trying to break free, hoarse whimpers and gasps escaping him. 

Swiftly, he undid everything except the collar, dragging the fae along the floor behind him, opening the trap door that led to the cellar, shoving the fae down into it, hopping down after, landing easily on his feet. 

He quickly chained the fae to the wall, shackling his hands high above his head so he would have to stand on tip toe to take pressure off them, putting pressure on his injured leg. He hooked the collar directly to the wall, so the fae would have zero range of motion of his head, it would force him to face straight ahead, if he slouched, it would cut off his air supply, already weak from the injection of diluted iron and salt he’d injected him with. 

“please… don’t… please…” the fae begged weakly, and he laughed, hard and cold. 

“You know exactly how to save yourself, fae. Give me your name. I can end this, right now, little fae. I can make all the hurt go away.” He murmured, stroking the fae’s cheek, who shuddered, struggling to keep his eyes open. “Just give up, darling.” For a moment, he thought the fae was going to accept, was going to give in, he could taste victory, could see the lines of resignation and defeat on his face. 

Then something shifted, and the fae’s eyes sharpened, hardened, as he looked straight back at him, determination flaring to life. 

“no.” He growled and stepped back, turning and leaving the cellar without another word, slamming the trap door shut behind him, leaving the fae in the pitch blackness.

He would break him. He had never failed, and this would not be the first one to best him.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flashback and rescue

Pain.

Rending, tearing, breaking, pain. 

He was burning, boiling, from the inside out, the heat was devouring him and he couldn’t think past it, couldn’t reach beyond it to focus on anything else, it drowned him, in fire and flames, and no matter how hard he fought, he couldn’t get free, he couldn’t put out this fire, he couldn’t douse these flames. 

He couldn’t breathe. It was so hard to breathe, his throat felt like it was closing up, barely a wheeze breaking past his lips, and any air in and out scorched his windpipe, blistered against his throat, he was shaking, trembling, the force of it nearly ripping him in half, and he wanted to scream, but there wasn’t enough air, instead hacking rasps escaped him, sending his stomach twisting, retching up hot acid. 

He should give up. He should just give up, just let him have his name, just admit defeat to this human, he just wanted it to end, wanted everything to end, why wouldn’t it end?! 

The only reason he hadn’t, the only thing even remotely tethering him to sanity was that twinge of recognition he’d felt on the very distant edge of his perception, a presence as familiar as the feeling of breathing, the sense of motion, and the hope that perhaps someone had heard his call, after all.   
…  
Eyes. He saw eyes, twisting around him in the dark, big baby blues, circling him like a ghost. He remembered, the face those eyes belonged to. Blond angelic curls, perfect cream colored skin, those big beautiful eyes, yes, anyone could see, that child was special, was going to grow up to be incredibly handsome, incredibly beautiful, his voice was sweet and his singing sweeter. It was no wonder the fae had wanted him for their own. 

He hadn’t let them have him. 

The child had woken in the night, a fight going on in his room, and in the melee, managed to run to his parents. He’d scratched and clawed and bared his teeth, hissing furious like a cornered ally cat, and despite them outnumbering him three to one, he chased them off with his magic and determination, claiming the town, the people, as his territory. 

But he’d been injured. He hadn’t gotten far, from the house, not far enough, anyways, to be safely hidden, and the racket had woken the townsfolk, and the boy had told what he’d seen, and they were on the hunt for the dangerous fae who had tried to steal the boy, but they’d found him, instead, licking his wound against the short stone wall that marked the edges of the town. 

Blinding light, angry faces, jeering and shouts and spears brandished his way, and he’d closed his eyes, thinking that was the end of him. 

Instead, the boy had rushed forwards, blocking their path, shooing them back despite his parent’s protests, but he wouldn’t let them touch him. 

“Stop it! He’s the one who saved me!” He shouted, angry tears dripping down his face, his words quieting the crowd, the boy’s parents and the village elder stepping forwards, the elder looking down at him, with kind, if hard, eyes. 

“Is this true?” He’d asked, voice sharp. 

“Yes.” His voice was hoarse, and he inhaled sharply, at the wash of pain coming from his side, his hand pressed against the wound steadily leaking crimson, the weapon that had left it laced with rowan and hemlock, preventing it from healing as it naturally would. 

“Why? So you could take him yourself?” The boy’s mother, not that he could blame her for her suspicions. The crowd murmured and the elder hushed them, before turning back to him, waiting for his explanation. 

“No… I…” he coughed, squeezing his eyes shut against the brightness of the torches. “Had a brother. Stolen, for the trade. Never… found him. Trying… trying to stop it. Any of it.” He’d hissed, as the elder removed his hand from his injury, a sharp cry of pain escaping his lips as hands pressed against it, though in an instant, the pain faded to soothing warmth. When the elder drew away, the wound was gone, as if it had never been. 

“Thank you, fae. And I am sorry, for your loss.” He’d simply ducked his head, embarrassed and exhausted. 

“no thanks necessary. They shouldn’t bother you again. And if they do, call on me. I will come.” He’d handed what looked like a simple tarot card to the elder, an illustration of a thunderous storm, purple lightning crashing from the sky over dark mountains. “I’ve warded the town, at least. You’ll have warning, should they or anyone else unwelcome enter the borders.” He made to stand, only making it halfway before dizziness washed over him, and he sunk back to sitting, atop the wall, rubbing his forehead. 

“Stay. The night, at least. You should recover, and I wouldn’t want you to get ambushed out there, when you can’t defend yourself.” The boy’s father, offering a hand to help pull him up, which he hesitantly accepted. 

“If… if you’re sure, that’s alright.” He glanced between the family members, the elder, realizing the other townspeople had begun wandering back to their homes, now that it was clear the danger was passed. 

“You saved me. Of course it’s alright! Come on, we can have a sleep over! Can I do your hair? I bet I could French braid it.” The boy chattered, slipping a hand into his, pulling him along. “My name’s Patton, what’s yours?” He stopped, then, placing both hands on the boy’s shoulders, crouching before him and meeting his eyes. 

“Patton.” The boy’s eyes widened, no doubt at the faint tug of magic, that came from him using his name. “Did you feel that?” The boy nodded, a slight current of fear running through him. Good, he should be afraid of this. “That was magic. That is why you must never, for any reason, ever, tell a fae your name. They can use it to control you, to compel you, to force you to do whatever they want. If you ever meet someone outside this village, gathering flowers or fetching water, you must never tell them your name. Make up a nickname for yourself to give out instead. It’s good to use with strangers, or anyone else new you meet, until you’re sure they are trustworthy. Names hold power. And giving yours to someone gives them all the power in the world over you. Do you understand me?” He asked, and slowly, the boy nodded, eyes serious and deep. 

“Yes. I’ll be careful. I promise. But… you can still call me Patton. You’re trustworthy.” His heart melted a little bit at that, and he smiled tiredly, ruffling the kid’s hair as he stood. 

“Alright, I suppose. Lead on.” He answered, looking up to see the parent’s appraising gaze on him, though after a moment they both relaxed, giving him a steady nod, one of appreciation and understanding. And behind them, the elder tucked the card into his pouch, taking care to keep it close and safe.   
…  
His eyes flickered open, at a loud sound from above, though he couldn’t seem to focus on what was being said, what words were being shouted. It was like wading through water, he felt heavy and slow. 

The fire was gone. In it’s place was a deep, bone numbing chill, offset only by the warmth he could feel trickling down his arms from his wrists, leaking from around his neck, from his ankle. 

His breath plumed in the air before him, and he shivered, trying to keep his head from drooping, knowing that would prevent him from breathing, but he didn’t have the strength to keep standing, as his legs gave out under him, the full weight of his body on his arm, wrenching them in their sockets, gasping emptily for air, barely getting more than a wisp, coughing and choking and trying to breathe, trying to regain his footing, but it was futile, darkness dancing before his eyes, threatening to swamp him completely, and he could feel himself fading. 

Then there was a loud bang from above him, and light flooded the space, burning his eyes, it was so bright, after nothing but darkness. He heard someone curse, savagely and repeatedly, the sound of someone dropping down into this miserable pit. He managed to get one leg back underneath him, enough to gasp in a desperate breath, to tense for whatever was coming next, not expecting the gentle hands that cupped his face, wiping away tears he hadn’t known were there. 

“Easy, Stormcloud. I’m getting you out.” Remus. It took everything in him not to slump back in relief, from the intense wash of hope that broke over him. He felt his wrists be freed, only Remus’s gentle hold against his chest keeping him from falling and choking himself entirely on the collar. A moment more, and that was off, too, and he fell forwards with a small cry, freed of the awful metal. Immediately, he was swept off his feet, warmth around him, and he felt silent tears slipping down his face, as Remus cradled him close. 

“Shhh, Stormy. It’s alright. It’s alright, now. You can rest. You’re safe, I promise.” He shivered, as he felt Remus lean in close. “I promise, Virgil.” He whispered in his ear, so soft he even barely even heard it, but he did, and it was real, because no one knew his name but Remus. So he let his exhaustion drag him down into oblivion, knowing Remus would keep his promise. Keep him safe.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angst for days

He was close. He could feel it, he’d found the trap, anger igniting at the cruelty of it, and from there it wasn’t at all difficult to follow the trail back to the house, a rather unassuming log cabin affair. He tethered Thunder just within the tree line, so she wouldn’t be seen from the windows, and snuck to peek inside. 

There was a man, scowling as he leaned against a table, frustration written across his face. There was a large iron cage, and even from here, he could see the deep red of dried blood across the bottom of it, outrage increasing. But Stormcloud was nowhere to be seen, meaning this person must have squirreled him away somewhere. 

‘or killed him, and disposed of the body’ his mind whispered at him, and he shoved the thought away violently, refusing to acknowledge it. Stormcloud wasn’t dead. He’d know, he’d have to know, if he was. 

Without any other hesitation, he kicked in the door, wielding his Morningstar with vigour, not hesitating, catching the man by surprise. In a matter of moments, he’d hit him, a fairly solid blow to the chest that knocked the air out of him, and he shoved the man back, slamming the door of the cage closed, grinning ferally as the man swore, wrenching at the bars, which didn’t budge. 

“I don’t know what you think you’re doing, but you’re sorely mistaken if you think I have anything worth stealing.” The man growled, knuckles white where he clutched the bars. He leaned in, enjoying the faint flicker of fear. 

“Oh, I’m not a thief. Quite the opposite, really. No, I’m here because I believe you’ve come into contact with a friend of mine.” The man’s eyes hardened, so he did have him, though his gaze stayed locked ahead. 

“I don’t get visitors, here, so I’m afraid you’re mistaken.” He chuckled, shaking his head, eyes sharp enough to cut glass. 

“I’m afraid you’ve underestimated who you’re dealing with. I’m not some rogue renegade, I’m not a looter or bandit, I’m not some simpleminded hero. I’m The Duke.” He whispered, leaning in close enough their noses almost touched. “And I have come for my very good friend.” He whispered, feeling the man shudder. 

He pulled back, pacing across the floor with a soft hum, feeling the man’s eyes tracking him. He crossed a certain spot and heard a creak, saw the man’s eyes linger for a moment too long, and he paused. 

“What do you want with him, anyway? I doubt he’s caused trouble.” He asked, voice full of false casualness, undercut with ice. 

“He’s a fae. They only cause pain and trouble. What does the world care, if there’s one less mucking everything up and torturing mortals?” He spun sharply at that, letting out a dark laugh, shaking his head. 

“Oh, boy, you really have snatched the wrong fae, if that’s who you’re after. He’s never hurt a human in his life! No, he’s more likely to get hurt fighting his own kind than to hurt any of yours. He’s saved more lives than I have, and trust me, I keep count.” A sound from below his feet caught his attention, a small clanking, rustling, and he knew he was on the right spot as he knelt, feeling over the floor, pulling up the trap door after only a few moments. 

He heard the man curse, but didn’t care, as he dropped down into the darkness, blinking for a few moments as his eyes adjusted to the dim lighting, breath catching in his throat. 

Virgil was pinned to the wall, choking on the restraint around his neck, legs shaking under him, dark bags under his face, chronic chills wracking his frame. Instantly, he rushed to his side, seeing how his body tensed, his breath plumed faster. He let out a soft breath, cupping the fae’s cheeks, wiping away his tears.

“Easy, Stormcloud. I’m getting you out.” He murmured, it not taking him more than a minute to unlock the cuffs around his hands, supporting him so he didn’t tumble over, as he unlocked the cursed collar, easily scooping him up into his arms, the moment he was fully free. He was shaking like a leaf, and he winced at the angry sores open around his wrists and neck, the lesser ones around his ankles, except for the bandages where red was soaking through. No doubt where the trap had gotten him. More tears were slipping down his face, from fear or relief, he couldn’t tell, so he smoothed back his hair gently.

“Shhh, Stormy. It’s alright. It’s alright, now. You can rest. You’re safe, I promise.” He murmured, glancing upwards, before leaning in close, careful to let only the barest whisper of his words reach his stormcloud’s ears, lest the human upstairs hear. “I promise, Virgil.”

At that, Virgil seemed to let out a deep breath, and with it, the last of his strength, as went completely limp in his arms. He shifted him ever so slightly so he could climb up the short ladder to the upstairs with Stormcloud in his arms, hearing him whimper at the movement, despite his best efforts it was jostling. 

“I know, I know, I’m sorry.” He murmured, as they reemerged back in the upstairs. He settled Stormcloud on the couch, biting back his fury at the state of him, at the horrendously painful weeping flesh around where he’d been restrained, the iron having literally burned away his skin and into his body. His breathing was shallow, labored, his forehead hot from fever, no doubt thanks to all the iron he’d been exposed to. 

He cursed. He didn’t want to leave Stormcloud alone, not even for a moment, but he needed supplies, to properly tend to these wounds, and his horse was just outside with everything he’d need. He stepped back with a sigh, turning a burning glare on the human. 

“Gods save you from my wrath, if he doesn’t recover from this. I will not have the mercy to make your death a short one, I can promise you that.” He was pleased to see the man recoil from his words, before slinking back to the opposite side of the cage. 

He quickly fumbled through his saddlebags, before just grabbing both of them, and hurrying back inside, all of it falling from his hands as he saw Stormcloud, shaking, seizuring, flailing and whimpering, eyes open but clouded, in a different place, a different time. He bared his teeth, glaring at the man. 

“What did you do?” The man looked honestly surprised, pressing against the bars, staring at Stormcloud. 

“I… nothing. I didn’t do anything.” He cursed again, hurrying to Stormcloud’s side, pulling him into an upright position, hugging him from behind so he could pin his arms to his sides, prevent him from hurting himself. 

“No… let go! No!” Stormcloud cried, voice cracking with anguish. 

“Stormy, please, it’s just me, it’s just Duke.” He tried, though Stormcloud didn’t seem to hear, still struggling. 

“Emi! Don’t… don’t take him, please, EMI!” He screamed, rasping and ringing, a chorus of echoes following after, Stormcloud slumping against him, gasping, trembling, but no longer fighting. “p-p-please…em… emi…” He whispered, slipping away once more. 

He stayed cradling him for a long moment, pressing his face to Stormcloud’s hair, trying to steady himself. No wonder, he’d reacted so violently, if that’s where he’d thought he was. If that’s when he’d thought he was. 

“Oh, my lightning bug, I’m sorry.” He whispered, before slowly slipping out from behind him, leaving him half propped up on the couch, hoping that would help ease the pressure that seemed to keep building in his chest. 

He retrieved his saddle bags, ignoring the man’s curious eyes staring into his back, as he dumped them out unceremoniously, sorting through them for the supplies he needed, sighing in relief as he found that he still had two vials of dew collected under a full moon, sprinkled with stardust. It was the most powerful natural remedy the fae had, one of the only that would actually cure iron poisoning, even if they were on the brink of death from it. 

He carefully propped up Stormcloud’s head, coaxing him into swallowing the liquid, massaging his throat to make sure he swallowed it all, before letting him lay down once more. Once that had worked it’s magic, and purged the iron from his system, his wounds should start healing. 

Of course, that was only if his body had the energy. Fae healed quickly, yes, but only if they had the extra energy and magic to do so. Usually, that wasn’t a problem, but with him so weak from the iron, and burning up under his hands, he’d be surprised if they healed at a normal human rate. 

“alright. Doing this old school.” He pulled the kettle off the stove, filling it with water, setting it back on before scrounging around for some cloth, finding a couple wash towels that would do. 

He poured the now boiling water into a bowl, waiting for it to cool to a reasonably warm temperature, before soaking one of the towels, ringing it out, settling on the couch just beside Stormcloud. 

“Alright. This might hurt, stormy, and I’m sorry, but I promise it will help.” He soothed, taking Stormcloud’s limp hand in his, starting to dab away the blood surrounding his wrist, to clean the weeping sore encircling it. He dabbed it dry with one of the other cloths, before gently rubbing in some healing salve, then binding it with bandages infused with Aloe. Throughout it all, Stormcloud had barely moved, only the smallest of sounds leaving his lips as he rubbed in the salve. The other wrist went similarly well, as did his neck and ankle. 

He paused when he got to his right ankle, the one that had been caught in the trap, and was wrapped in now soaked through bandages. He let out a breath, sitting atop Stormcloud’s legs so he couldn’t kick or thrash, because this was going to hurt the most. 

He winced, as he peeled off the bandages, the faint smell of infection hitting his nose, and a few tears slipped down his face before he managed to suppress them. He needed to keep it together. 

He cleaned away the mess as best he could, Stormcloud’s feet barely twitching in protest, and that deeply concerned him. He was already so very weak, if this infection well and truly set in, he didn’t have the strength to fight it. He bound it with a heavy sigh, pleased that it seemed to have stopped bleeding, at least.

He sunk to the ground with a heavy breath, head in his hands. He felt miserable. He’d done everything he could, but it wasn’t enough, not nearly, and there was no guarantee that Stormcloud would recover from this. 

He should have been closer. He should have been faster. If he’d gotten here sooner… 

“I’m sorry, Stormy. Please, be ok. Please.” He begged, to whatever deity was out there, whatever one might care about a solitary, too kind fae. 

“Who is Emi?” He nearly jumped at the voice. He’d forgotten about the man, who was now sitting in the cage, leaning casually back against the bars, legs stretched out before him, though his carefree air was clearly a farce. He contemplated ignoring the man, but decided to answer. He’d done this, to his fae, after all, he should know just who he’d been torturing. Let him feel the guilt of it on his heart. 

“Emile. That was his name, though Stormcloud often called him Emi. Stormy was the younger of the two. Their parents were part of the courts, I don’t know which one or how high up they were, he doesn’t speak of them often. Emile practically raised him, I know that much.   
And then someone or some faction got it in their heads to hurt them, hurt their family, for some political gain or other, or perhaps just to be spiteful, the fae can be like that sometimes.   
The reason doesn’t really matter. Only the end result. Which was Emile, being snatched away in the night, and the only one around to see it happen was him.” He nodded towards Stormcloud, uneasily sleeping on the couch. “And he fought. Oh, he fought, tooth and nail, but he was young, small, hadn’t grown into his magic yet, didn’t have control, and he was outnumbered.   
Emile tried to fight back, but he was only a few years older, barely had more control than he did. And they hit him with some pretty powerful stuff right off the bat, knocked him out.   
And for his defiance? For trying to protect his brother, trying to cling to the only real family he had, trying to stop them from destroying his world? They took his wings. Pinned him down like butterfly in a collector’s frame, and sawed them off with their knives. Even the fae can’t repair or heal something that damaging.   
They never found the culprits. They never found Emile. He was probably taken somewhere far away, maybe switched out for a human child, maybe they just bound his magic and sent him stumbling into the human world, maybe they kept him and worked magics to erase and warp his memory so he forgot his family completely and he grew up perfectly happy with some other fae family who paid a pretty penny for a child of their own.   
He’s never stopped looking. I doubt he ever will. He’ll still be looking long after we’re both dead and gone and turned to dust. And in the meantime, he’s made it his own personal mission to shut down the changeling trade. He’s made a fair bite into it, as well.   
Every time he catches wind of it, he steps in. He fights tooth and nail to protect those kids, because he can, now, when he couldn’t back then. He couldn’t save Emile. So he saves everyone else. And when he saves a kid, or helps a town, he passes along his calling card, so they can summon him if help is needed, he wards it so the fae can’t enter without permission, he teaches them how to properly ward themselves, protect themselves, so that even outside the borders of the town, they won’t be able to be touched. There’s more than a few powerful people, who probably want his head delivered to them on a platter.   
He doesn’t care. The only thing he cares about is keeping anyone else from going through what he did.” He finished, letting out a long breath, shaking his head. 

“And you? How do you know him?” He looked up, at the man, a wry smile on his lips. 

“I was taken as a baby. I didn’t even know I wasn’t actually a fae, until I got abandoned by them, because I got ill. Sick enough they thought I wasn’t worth the effort and simply left me to die.   
He found me, nursed me back to health. Answered all my questions about what I was if not fae, where I came from, he let me rage and lash out, then held me while I sobbed my eyes out. He promised to help me however he could, and I said I wanted to find my real family.   
We traveled together for a long while, after that. Searching together, protecting and helping whenever we could. Until we found them. Found my mom and my dad and my twin brother, and I swear that moment was more magical than anything I’d ever seen the fae do. After he was sure they would take me and not shun or hurt me, for having been with the fae, he gave each of us his card, and vanished back into the night.   
I didn’t see him for a long while, after that. I felt him, of course. I knew he checked in on us, every once in a while, even if he chose not to show himself. I always spoke to him, when I felt that, told him what had been going on, how we’d been doing, Roman would leave trinkets for him, as thanks. And our parents always left out food or honey.   
My brother’s a knight, now. I took the more… appealing route, skipped all the red tape. I’m a rogue, and proud of it. We work with each other, more or less. I tip him off if there’s a group or attack I can’t handle, and on the rare times we encounter each other in the field, he lets me slip away.  
And Stormcloud here makes sure neither of us get in over our heads. I just wish he’d let us do the same for him.” He mumbled the last sentence, gently squeezing Stormcloud’s hand, relieved to feel his pulse was returning to a steady beat, the tincture working swiftly. 

“So. What do you think of him now?” He asked, turning his eyes back to the man, whose shoulders were tensed, eyes wide. He opened and closed his mouth several times, looking for words, before simply looking away, eyes dark and distant.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Virgil flashback and Logan arrives

He was in the kitchen. He’d come out for a glass of water. When he headed back upstairs, he heard the sound of footsteps, of something happening, and he raced back in, water forgotten. 

He froze at the sight of several figures wearing ornate masquerade masks, one of them standing over Emile, who was struggling to keep his eyes open, some kind of sleeping spell set on him. 

“Vee… get out…” Emile managed, his voice slurred and weak, and he shook his head, fisting his hands, his purple and black monarch butterfly wings flaring wide behind him as he bared his teeth, all of eight years old, squaring up against four adult fae, but he didn’t hesitate. 

He leapt at one of them, clawing and biting and scratching, letting loose whatever bursts of magic would come, unable to control the power that sparked out of him, small sparks of dark light that stung the attackers, but didn’t cause any actual harm. 

Then one of them wrenched his arm back behind him and kicked the back of his leg, sending him stumbling to the ground with a sharp gasp. 

“Feisty little thing, I’ll give it that.” The one holding him grunted, as he struggled in his grip, another lifting Emile from the bed, his brother unresponsive and fully unconscious. “take him and go.” The one holding Emile and one of the others nodded, heading towards the window. He thrashed, screaming, not caring about the pain that came from wrenching his arm free, launching himself at the one holding Emile. He heard a curse, then some unseen force gripped him, and threw him against the wall, making his head spin from the force of the impact, vision blurry, but clear enough to see them escaping out the window.

“EMI! Give him back, give him back!” He screamed, the panic and fear forcing magic from him, and he could feel the spell holding him crack, the power striking back at the caster, as the man cursed again, angry now, as he fell to the ground, face streaked with tears as he glared up at the fae man, yelping as the other shoved him down, pinning him to the floor. 

“You’ll pay for that.” The man growled, circling him. He cried out as he felt a tug on his wing, which instictivly tried to pull away, tried to flap its way free. The man chuckled, and he screamed, as he felt something sharp plunge into the thin, sensitive membrane of his right wing, a similar pain following a moment after in his left, the other fae pinning his legs so he couldn’t flail his way free. “Such pretty wings, don’t you think? I know some collectors who would pay quite the fee for such a beautiful set.” He didn’t understand, he still didn’t understand, not until the pain burned its way down his back, his wings tearing at the daggers pinning them to the floor, electric fire burning down his spine, and he screamed and pled and cried, cried for Emi, for anyone, for it to stop, stop, stop, until it was too much and darkness crashed over him.

They found him in the morning, his nanny, pitiful and fevered on the floor, curled up in a tight ball, muttering nonsense and crying out for his brother, reaching for things that weren’t there, unable to be calmed, and they had to use a sleep spell on him, to sedate him, to get him to stop flailing and fighting and crying for Emile. 

And when he was healed enough they did wake him, he wasn’t the same. He wasn’t himself. He was a shadow, of himself. He didn’t speak. He barely responded to anyone, he barely ate anything, he was barely present in himself at all. 

He’d lost his wings. They’d been violently ripped from his body, cut from him, stolen, just like Emile. He wasn’t whole, without them, without him, and he wished, more than anything, he wished that they’d killed him, instead of leaving him alive to suffer. 

It took a few years, for the pain to morph into anger, morph into ire, turn and fester and grow into rage at everyone and anyone who was responsible. That was when he left the court, went solitary, and renounced their claim to him as their own. 

He hadn’t found him. He would find him. He needed him, he needed Emi, he needed- 

“EMI!” He screamed, shooting upwards, though his head pounded, his stomach twisted, his body ached, every inch of him ached, and his vision was blurred, nothing was clear, he didn’t recognize where he was, where was he, where…

“Stormcloud. It’s me, stormy, it’s Duke. It’s duke.” He knows that name, he knows that voice, and he blinked several times, though it did little to clear his vision. The world seemed to swim before his eyes, and he shivered, curling tight around himself, to try and keep warm. 

“h-how? Ree…” He coughed, feeling Remus wrap something warm around his shoulders. 

“You got hurt, do you remember that? I heard your call. I came as fast as I could, but I was far, I’m sorry, Stormy. I’m so sorry.” His eyes fluttered closed, feeling Remus stroking back his hair. 

“S ok. D… didn’t think anyone was coming. Didn’t think a-anyone c-cared.” 

“Oh, stormy, of course we care.” His brain was slow to work, but after a moment, his brow furrowed. 

“we?” 

“I called on Specs. You’re sick, Stormy, and he’s the only one I know I can trust, to help get you better. He’ll be here soon.” Remus answered softly, and he made a small noise of pain as something in his leg twinged with hurt, then he slipped back into the dark.   
…  
He burst into the house, not caring to knock, his usual composure fallen by the wayside, probably back on the road somewhere around mile three. He’d packed his bags quickly, filling them with everything he could think of, all the potions and tinctures and salves and herbs he had, any of his notes that might help, hands shaking. 

Then he’d mounted his horse and rode hard and fast, to the location the card was pinging, trying to stay calm, trying to keep a level head. But Remus’s call was one of the highest order of urgency, and gods know what that idiot had gotten himself into. 

So he threw open the door, crashing into the house, arms laden with papers and bags and supplies, thinking himself ready for anything. 

He was not expecting Remus to be standing there, looking at him with shocked surprise, completely and totally unharmed and one hundred percent fine. He set down his bags, advancing with murderous eyes. 

“Do you know how scared to death you had me?! Calling for me like that, when you’re like THIS?! FINE?! RE-“ Remus cut him off, nodding his head. He turned to see a man watching them from behind the bars of a cage, and he spun back to Remus. “We can get to why in the world you have a man locked up in your house-“ 

“It is my house, actually.” The man put in, seemingly amused, and his own aggravation rose.

“Wonderful, why you have a man locked up in his own house later, for now we can focus on WHAT THE HELL YOU WERE DOING, DUKE!” he was breathing heavily, and he knew this reaction was illogical, everything was fine so he should be relieved, but it was the ebbing of the fear that had been eating at him the entire trip, that he would get here and be too late to help Remus out of whatever mess he was in, that he would get here and find a broken and bloodied body instead of one of his best friends, because Remus never could keep his nose out of trouble.

“Specs. It wasn’t for me.” Remus answered calmly, placing his hands on his shoulders, steadying him. 

“wasn’t… then who…” His attention was stolen by a small sound, and he turned, heart dropping, mind blanking out for several long seconds, before it managed to restart. 

Virgil. He was under a pile of blankets, and still shivering fiercely, his face flushed with fever, and he crossed the room almost in slow motion, feeling his forehead, gasping at the heat of it, his hair slick with sweat, his eyes flicking wildly beneath their lids. His breathing was rapid and shallow, coming in gasps and wheezes, his pulse a too fast staccato beat. 

“what… happened? Re- Duke, what happened?” He stopped himself from using Remus’s name, it was always hard to remember not to use names. 

“The mighty Hunter over there caught him and thought to do the world a service by taking one more fae out of it.” Remus’s voice was bitter and cold, glaring back at the man, who at least seemed a bit cowed. Logan let out a long breath, pulling back the blankets covering Virgil, wincing at the blood seeping through the bandages wrapped around him. All of them were red and hot to the touch, though his ankle was the worst one, the wound there ugly and jagged, the blood a dark, almost black, color, a raging infection well set in. It was bad, this was bad. 

“ok. Ok, let’s get to work.”   
…  
He spent the next several hours directing Remus, having him do the grunt work of grinding herbs, boiling fresh water, mixing the pastes together once he’d measured out the proper amounts of the ground herbs for the polituces, adding in the special ingredients, rose hips, willow bark, honey, the last vial of dew from Remus, the ones Virgil had taught him about, that would do nothing for humans, but were potent to the fae.

While Remus mixed everything, making sure it was all evenly distributed and ground to a pulp, he tended Virgil’s wounds, cleaning them out with water laced with mint, flushing the wounds over and over until he was sure they were clean, wincing at the faint hisses and gasps that came as he flushed out his ankle, the dark black giving way after several long minutes to fresh, red blood. He didn’t think he’d ever been so relieved to see red in his life. 

He packed the wound with the healing mixture they’d made, wrapping it tightly in bandages lightly painted with honey, before wrapping it in a compression bandage, trying to get the angry swelling around the wound down, trying to keep more buildup of bacteria from occurring. 

He was just finishing, when he heard Virgil let out a soft moan, his eyes flickering open, dim and distant. 

“Vee. Can you hear me?” He asked, crouching before him. Virgil’s eyes flicked over his face, a rasping breath escaping him. “Vee.” For a moment, his eyes sharpened, clarity in them. 

“L… Lo? What’re you…” He trailed off, a wash of pain racing through him, shaking him to his core. 

“I am here to help. You are ill. I am doing everything I can. Here. Can you drink something, for me?” He asked, holding a cup to Virgil’s lips, who managed a few shaky sips, before his eyes drifted closed once more. 

“S dark, Lo. Why’s it so dark?” Virgil slurred, making his breath catch. 

“I don’t know. But you are not alone, Vee. You have me. And you have Ree. Neither of us are going anywhere, not without you.” Virgil let out a choked laugh. 

“I kn-know. But I think I’m the one g-going somewhere, you c-can’t follow.” He squeezed Virgil’s hand, shaking his head. 

“No. No. You’re not. I won’t let you, Vee. I won’t let you go.” He replied fiercely, feeling Virgil trembling, sensing the pain running through him. He bit his lip, focusing, a slight soft green glow emanating from his hand. He nearly lost his concentration, at the wash of agony that raced through him, before it settled into a deep ache. 

“Don’t… Lo…” Virgil protested weakly, eyes slipping shut. “I’m not… not worth it…” 

“Oh, hush, Stormy. You’re worth every bit of it.” Remus added, brushing back Virgil’s hair, who sighed, slipping away once more. “What exactly are you doing, Specs?” Remus asked, glancing at him, noticing his slightly pale face, his free hand clenching the ground. 

“I am absorbing his pain into myself, so that he can get adequate rest. I am taking the stress and strain off his body so that it can focus on healing the wounds. Hopefully, that will give have him the edge he needs to recover, to fight off the infection.” 

“Oh, Specs…” 

“It’s the only option.” He felt Remus sit down beside him on the floor, wrapping an arm around his shoulder, gently tugging him so his head rested against his chest, Specs closing his eyes with a soft hum of appreciation. 

“You should sleep, Ree. I doubt you’ve gotten any rest since you’ve gotten here. I can watch over him. I can’t sleep and keep siphoning his pain, anyways.” 

“Alright. But don’t you wear yourself too thin, either, Specs. And wake me, if you have any trouble.” Remus murmured back, nuzzling against him, falling asleep almost instantly.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dun Dun DAAAAAAA

“He knows your names. Your real names.” The man states, though it comes out more as a question. He dips his head in acknowledgement. 

“He does. And we know his. Freely given to us. As ours were to him.” The man raises a brow. 

“That seems foolish, both ways.” 

“Not when there is trust, between all parties. And he has more than proven his trustworthiness.” 

“Oh? And what has he done for you?” The man asked, and he half smiled, at the question. 

“What do you think, he’s done for me, based on what you already know of him?” He replied. The man huffed. 

“Rescued you from fae, I’d presume.” The man stated, though he didn’t seem to believe it. He once again nodded.

“You presume correct, though it was not as dramatic as Duke’s story. I’ve always had an affinity for healing, a natural ability to see what plants had what properties, how to combine them for different effects. A touch of magic. Second Sighted, is what he called it. Able to see past illusions to the truth of things.   
It wasn’t that the fae wanted me, to keep. I was a threat to them. I could see through their glamours and illusions, I can understand the trick of their words, see the half truths and deceptions in their sentences. They couldn’t trick me, so they decided to eliminate me.   
He warned me. Chased them off. Taught me how to properly protect myself, so they couldn’t touch me both with their words and their magic. Then taught me how to use mine. How to really use my Sight to see, everything. It’s a wonder, the world around us. I never get tired, of learning, and he never fails to teach me something new, whether he knows it or not.  
He never once asked for my name. He never tried to trick it out of me, never tried to guess it, based on my slips of the tongue. And I would have known if he had. But he didn’t.   
He told me his first, actually. When he had taught me everything he could, and was going to be leaving. He gave me his card, and told me his name, so that if I were ever in trouble, I could call on him. Even then, I didn’t give him mine. Not until a few years later, when I had traveled around myself. Gotten more experience and understood better the nature of magic and fae. He’s always careful, if he does use our names, to phrase things as requests, not orders or demands. He’s always so scared, of hurting anyone, that he ends up hurting himself, instead.  
He’s had more than his fair share of hurt. I don’t mind taking some for him, especially when he doesn’t deserve it.” He finished, running his thumb over Virgil’s knuckles, relieved to feel his pulse steadying out, his breathing becoming more even. It made the pain worth it, the chance that Virgil would recover. 

“how many people has he helped?” He tapped his hand against his leg, thinking. 

“I can’t really say. He’s always on the move. I rarely know where he is, at any given time, though I know he checks in often. I can feel the magic, when he scries me. He’s always nervous, about something happening to one of us. I know he’s got enemies, some that must be fairly powerful. Those involved in the trade do not have mercy, and I know he fears that they will learn of our close association and target us in revenge, though that has yet to happen.   
Even if he isn’t directly stopping other fae, he is always warding towns and teaching humans to protect themselves, he never stops to take a moment’s rest. It’s impossible to count the lives he’s saved. Both Fae and human.” He added, taking a deep breath against a wash of pain, more severe than the dull ache his body had become. At the same time, Virgil twitched in his sleep, panic flooding through him. 

“Shhh. Vee, it’s ok. It’s ok.” He murmured, shifting Remus off of him, so he was leaning against the back of the couch, head back and open as he snored, moving so he was sitting on the couch behind Virgil, pulling him carefully onto his lap, wrapping his arms around his middle and tucking his head against the crook of Virgil’s shoulder. He quieted instantly, at the close contact, nuzzling into it slightly, relaxing once more with a deep breath out. 

“I…” The man trailed off. “I didn’t realize…” 

“That fae could be good? I’ll admit the ones that are benevolent towards humans are few and far between, even the summer court is dangerous, but they are still people. I understand you may have been hurt by them, but returning that hurt tenfold only continues the cycle of violence and animity between both groups. Most are content to keep to the themselves. It’s simply the loud minority who truly despise humans, and then many of them only for the pay that comes with the changeling trade. The way to stop it is to make the cost too high to justify and the risk too dangerous to gamble on.” 

“I’m… sorry.” He’s surprised, at the smallness of the man’s voice, the earnestness to it. He looked up to find him looking down, knees pulled to his chest. 

“How many times, have you done this before?” He asked in turn, and the man shrugged. 

“Ten that I’ve broken. More that I’ve killed, I don’t know how many of those. At first, I just hunted them. But you can do so much more, once you get their name. And oh, all the ones that came before deserved the hurt. Bragged, about the humans they’d taken, coerced the names from, turned into slaves or played with until they went mad. I found the ones who killed my parents, a while back. 

So pathetic, they could barely handle a scratch, so unused to the pain they doled out without remorse or second thought. I took their names. Then I gave them to a collector, to hold like trophies in a glass case for the rest of their lives, to suffer in silence. Think of me what you want, but I don’t regret it for a second. The only one I am… unsure of is him.   
I am skeptical of such pure intentions. But… well, I suppose it’s convincing, that neither of you were forced to come, but answered anyways. And…” The man trailed off, clearly thinking of something else, though he didn’t voice it, simply shaking his head. “I should have listened.” 

He made to say something else, to reply, but an intense surge of feelings from Virgil stole his breath, and it was all he could do to stay afloat and grounded in his own head, much less in Virgil’s.   
…  
Dark shadows followed him, chased him through the woods, through the trees. He was running, fast as he could, but the footsteps echoed behind him, getting closer, and then there were eyes, surrounding him. 

Glowing eyes, accusing eyes, and they were speaking, words and teeth clashing through the darkness, hisses and whispers that grated at his ears, sandpaper against his mind, and he futiley tried to block them out, to cover his ears, but they were so loud. 

The whispers encircled him, constricting him in bands of iron, burning chains forged of his own failures, of his worthlessness, of his uselessness. The whispers of everyone he’d ever lost, the ones he couldn’t save, the ones that slipped through anyways, the ones he couldn’t find or retrieve no matter how hard he searched, and those failures sent him to his knees, anguish wracking through him as he gasped for air. 

“sorry… I’m sorry…” He rasped, voice breaking, and the whispers swirled faster, stealing the air from around him, scraping and clawing his skin raw and red with their accusations, their screams. 

The world was breaking around him. He didn’t know where he was, what was happening, he didn’t understand, he was falling, he was falling and his wings spread wide behind him, catching the air as he tumbled head over heels, catching his balance. Then they burst into flames, burning to ash, scorching as he fell, screaming, it burned, it burned, it burned, and he choked on the ash, the sickening taste of it, as he hit the ground. 

But instead he fell through it, fell through the earth, into ice and cold and stars that scorched him with their cold, burning him blue and black with frostbite, eating away at his fingers and toes and ears, until he was sure he would simply break apart into a thousand pieces. 

Instead, he hurtled into the abyss, darkness surrounding him, silence so empty it was terrifying, the weight of the universe pressing down atop him, squeezing the air from his lungs, sending him stuttering and clawing at for breath, for light, for something, anything, please! 

Help, help, help me, help me, I can’t… get me out of here, get me out, get me out, please, I’m alone, I can’t be alone, I can’t-can’t… please…

A light. A distant, far off, sparkling light, familiar as his own heartbeat, his own magic, it felt warm and soft and he ached for it, he wished for it, he needed it, he needed it, but it was so far away. 

Still, he reached through the dark, for it, clawing and crawling and forcing his way forwards until finally he had the light in his grasp, and he gasped, warmth washing through him, like a summer’s day, it was peace and safety and light and hope, hope he hadn’t felt in so, so long. 

“EMI!” He screamed, he felt the warmth react, shoved everything he had towards it, all his memories, all his everything, and he felt something shatter, then he fell into darkness.  
…  
He looked up. 

He felt… strange. As if he were being watched, but not from the outside. As if there were something inside him, that was watching, something inside, struggling to get free. 

He’d always felt half empty. Half lost. He couldn’t remember his childhood. He’d been found wandering the woods, unable to remember anything but his name, unable to recall where he’d come from or how he’d gotten here. 

He was raised by no one in particular. It was a small town, so for him, there was reality in the saying it takes a village to raise a child. Everyone took him under their care, and it took nearly all of them to keep him from getting into trouble, from wandering off somewhere, as he was prone to doing. 

Even now, some days, looking out at the forest, he felt the urge to run and keep running, to let his feet carry him through the soft green underbrush, to run and run and run until he became fast as the wind. 

He could always find ripe berries, no matter the time of year. The forest creatures would lead him to them, or other little treasures, acorns, roots, medicinal herbs. He could coax any animal back to pasture if it escaped, he trained the villager’s dogs, they seemed to actually listen to him, and become smarter from it. Wild animals that got hurt came to him of their own accord, somehow knowing he would help. He’d always had a natural understanding of healing. 

And he’d always felt empty. Full of the sense there was something desperately important he’d forgotten, waking up most mornings with a fading sense of the thing that he’d lost, and as a child he’d always woke crying, trying to cling to the fleeting sense of wholeness, but the tighter he held the faster it slipped away. 

But this was different. There was something there, almost within his reach, almost within his understanding, and he shoved towards it, slamming against some strange barrier in his mind. 

He actually stumbled, at the sudden jolt that came with it, the strange sense of being watched intensifying. 

Then blinding agony sent him falling to his knees, clutching at his head, lights speckling his eyes as something in him shattered, stabbing into him like a thousand glass shards, each one a memory, something distant but familiar, all rushing at him so quickly it was impossible to parse sense from the overwhelming sensations. 

Dark eyes, looking up at him, watery with tears. 

Tucking the same boy into bed, humming until he was fully asleep.

Playing tag with the boy, who laughed, trying to flap his wings hard enough to fly, but they weren’t able to hold him yet, so he ended up making long, gliding jumps instead. He gave chase, grabbing the boy around his middle, making growling noises as the boy squeaked, tickling him until he was breathless from laughter on the ground, then flopping down beside him, the boy curling up against his chest and drifting to sleep.

That voice, so small and scared and angry, screaming his name, pleading for someone to let him go, and he tried to hold on to awareness, he tried to stay awake, but he couldn’t fight the sleep dragging him down, and the last thing he heard was his brother’s scream as the world went dark. 

“EMI!” He jolted back, eyes wide, heart racing. He could see the world in vivid colors, ones he hadn’t seen in so long, he could hear the world moving and singing around him, he could see the light of everything alive, he could see his own aura glowing and glittering, a soft rose petal pink with hints of gold, sparking from his fingers, igniting his eyes, and he took a deep breath, sorting through his memories and thoughts and feelings, trying to put everything back in its place.

“… Emi…” Came the voice weakly once more, then it was gone, and so was the sense of being watched, but the power remained, and he inhaled a sharp breath, coming back to himself. 

“virgil.” He whispered, images of a pale boy, eyes deep violet, hair dark black, deep purple and black wings spread wide, shimmering in the light, beautiful. Virgil. That was who he’d felt, who had reached him, and the echo of his cries had him trembling. 

He’d forgotten. 

No, not forgotten, he’d been bewitched. His true self had been bound by fae magic, locked away behind barriers, hidden from himself, and he felt so strange, now that he was whole, so centered and full, like he could see the world clearly for the first time, like drinking the finest fresh water from a mountain stream after walking through a desert. 

And Virgil had traveled far from his body, sent his mind wandering incredibly far over the earth, to find him in this form, hidden as he was. One couldn’t wander that far without serious repurcussions, the chance of getting lost and not being able to find one’s way back to their body, leaving their bodies stuck in perpetual slumber to waste away, while their minds wandered, forever lost, trapped in a half aware haze as they endlessly searched for the thing they were missing, unable to ever find it. 

Something was wrong. Something was desperately wrong, and he needed to go. He needed to go this instant. So he did what he’d always wanted to do. 

He gave in to the urge to run, trusting his heart to lead him where he needed to be, to lead him back to his baby brother, to take him home, to Virgil, before it was too late.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some Dee angst!

He’s exhausted. He’s supposed to be resting, Remus was watching over Virgil, though there was little that could be done. His fever wouldn’t go down, it was only rising, and he’d begun tossing and turning, trying to strike out, eyes open but glossy and unseeing, crying out and thrashing at imagined horrors, before he lost strength and passed out once more. 

He wished Virgil would just stay unconscious. It would conserve his energy, of which he had so little left, all of which needed to go towards fighting off the sickness flooding his veins. A battle he was losing, swiftly and decisively. 

He hadn’t eaten anything, not really. A few bites of soup, here and there, but nothing substantial, he could barely keep water down, much less any solid food, and the toll it was taking on his body was already visible. His eyes were sunken in, the bags under them deep purple bruising, his clothes looser than they had been mere days ago. 

He was struggling now, though it was depressingly easy for Remus to hold him down, hugging him from behind to pin his arms to his sides, though he still tried to thrash with his body, rolling and almost kicking, whimpering and hissing and baring his teeth. 

“Stormy, Stormcloud, please, you need to relax.” Remus’s voice was cracked, he was on the brink of tears, he could tell, and doing his best to push it away, to stay calm so Virgil would stay calm, but it wasn’t working all that well. 

“N-n-no… pl… please…” Virgil cried, shaking harder than ever, tears streaking down his face. 

“Shhh, it’s just me. It’s just me, you’re safe.” Remus yelped as sparks flew from Virgil’s hands, not enough to do any real damage, just a bit shocking, and Virgil went limp once more, wiped out from that use of magic. 

“Can’t you do anything else?” He sighed exhaustedly. He imagined he looked as much a mess as Remus, as he shook his head. 

“I’ve tried everything I can, Ree.” His voice came out hoarse and cracked, and Remus shook his head, taking a deep breath. 

“There has to be something else, there has to be, Specs. We’re losing him.” 

“You think I don’t know that!?” He shouted, stunning Remus into silence, and he realized after a moment hot tears were slipping down his cheeks. He wiped them away angrily. “I’m terrified, Ree. I’m terrified, and there’s nothing more to be done.” He whispered, looking up as the door opened, the man, Dee, he’d given them to call him, came back in, arms full of fresh herbs. 

“I found what you asked.” He set it all down on the table, looking between the two of them with a frown, before coming over to him, and pulling him into a hug. He gasped, at the contact, but fell into it, crying into his shoulder.

“I’m sorry. It’s not enough, I know, but I’m sorry. I will make this right, in whatever way I can.” He could feel the regret from Dee, clear as day, and maybe that’s why it was so easy to forgive him, because he hadn’t known, hadn’t had a reason to believe Virgil was anything other than dangerous, and he could see himself easily going down a similar path, had he lost what Dee had to the fae. 

“I know. I just… I don’t understand! Everything has been treated, the infection has waned, his wounds are healing, I don’t understand why this fever won’t break!” He was frustrated, angry, annoyed, and he was doubting his every action, because clearly, he was doing something wrong, if Virgil wasn’t better. 

“Come on. His bandages need to be changed, and if you aren’t going to rest, you should keep your mind occupied somehow.” He was right, of course, so he pulled himself to his feet and over to the table, squeezing Remus’s shoulder on his way, starting the process of grinding and boiling and mixing until his worries faded far away and all he was aware of were the herbs and plants under his hands.   
…   
He exchanged a glance with Remus, who’s eyes were red rimmed. Logan was in his own little world, now, completely focused on the task at hand, and he let out a low breath. 

“How is he, really?” He asked, and Remus shook his head. 

“Poor. I don’t… he’s so weak. He’s burning to pieces. Logan’s right, something deeper is wrong, but I can’t begin to guess what.” Remus answered, stroking back the fae’s hair, trying to convey safety. “I don’t know how much longer he can make it, like this. It’s like… like he’s stuck, or he’s choosing not to wake up. I don’t know.” He said, miserably, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t know.”

“I’ll take a turn. Watching him. If… you want.” He was hesitant to offer. His relationship with Specs was firmer than his with Duke, because Specs could tell what his true intentions were, and at this point they were to help. He didn’t blame Duke for his suspicion. He’d nearly had a coronary when Specs suggested releasing him from the cage, after needing an extra pair of hands to help with Vee. In the end, Duke had stormed out, murder on his face, and Specs had watched him go with a sigh, before letting him out. 

He was under no illusion of friendship, but there was tentative trust, with the both of them. Honestly, Duke was simply too focused on Vee to care, unless he was close to them, in which case his hackles rose, watching him with a burning stare, a warning and a threat, not to hurt either of them again or he’d regret it. 

Duke glanced at him, exhaustion clouding his eyes, though it didn’t dull the sharpness, there. The suspicion. He let out a low breath, looking away.

“Or I can go. Leave you alone, if you’d prefer.” He added, unsure why he was hurt by Duke’s silent stare, when he’d done nothing but hurt Vee, someone Duke clearly cared for very deeply. But these people, this fae, they seemed… good, in a way no one he’d ever known had been, good in a stupidly pure way that he would usually find naïve and idiotic, except it somehow seemed to have worked, for all of them. And it made him question his own actions, his own path, made him wonder if there had been a better one, that he’d just been too blindly angry to see. 

Maybe. Maybe there could have been. But he didn’t have anyone, to lean on. He didn’t have a reason, to keep going, beyond revenge and anger and pain. He didn’t have a brother to search for, he didn’t have a family to return to, he didn’t have friends to count on. 

He’d been alone. He’d been young and desperately hurt and agonizingly lonely and no one had ever taken him under their wing, after he’d lost everything. He’d earned his skills, learned them because he had to, or he would die. He’d known basic forest craft, known basic survival skills, but it was still a few hard, long years, before he was sure that he wouldn’t either starve to death or freeze, over the winter. 

Maybe if he’d anyone, like Specs or Duke, he wouldn’t have become what he is. He hasn’t regretted what he is in a long time. How he is. Cold and hard and broken inside. 

He jerks back at a hand on his, realizing that it was simply Duke, trying to get attention, he must have said something, several times over, but he’d been spacing out, thinking, and hadn’t heard. 

“sorry.” He mumbled, stepping back. “I didn’t mean… I don’t know.” He stumbled out. 

“You… are actually sorry, aren’t you?” Duke asked and he huffed, mouth dry. 

“If I weren’t, you’d have come back to a dead fae, an unconscious Specs, and me, lost in the wind the very first time he let me out of there.” Duke blinked, and he swore there was a small upturn of his lips, before his expression evened out. 

“Wow, leaving Specs alive, count me impressed.” The way he said it was light, and he could tell, Duke didn’t mean it as a jab, not really, meant it more as a joke, than anything, but he still flinched. 

“I wouldn’t have hurt him. He hadn’t done anything, not really, and my… misplaced hatred didn’t extend to him. I wouldn’t have killed you, either, had you come back in the midst of an escape.” He said, raising his head, meeting Duke’s eyes, a challenge in his own. “Honestly, I’m not sure I even would have killed him, at that point. I may have just run.” 

“Why didn’t you? It would certainly have been easier, to just run and leave this mess behind. Especially since you still have no reason to believe that I won’t wring your throat myself, if he dies.” He ducked his head in a nod, staring at the floor, as he thought. 

“I considered it, for a brief moment, I did. It would have been easy, I’m not a fool, there are escapes and hidden entrances littered all over this place. They’re hidden well, you wouldn’t have even known how I’d slipped away. And with him in his state, I was willing to bet you wouldn’t give chase, and that would buy me all the headstart I’d need.   
But it took only a moment to shake those thoughts away. They were more out of habit, than actual intent. I suppose it was guilt, at first. After what you told me, what Specs told me, what… what he tried to tell me, I felt guilty, that I hadn’t listened.   
And… well after, after I’d watched you interact with each other, interact with him…   
I suppose it’s what I’ve always wished for, on some level that I don’t like to admit to having. It’s what I imagine a family, would look like, which I have few enough memories of as it is, and I may hate the fae, but it seems like he does to, so maybe we’re all on the same side here, after all.   
I just don’t know how to be anything else than what I am, and the core of me has always been anger, but below that it has always been hurt.” He didn’t mean to say all that. He didn’t really mean to say any of that, but it was like once his mouth started moving he couldn’t stop his mind from spitting out everything that it had been sitting on. 

And he realized that over the last few days, he’d probably been sleeping even less than the two of them, because while they’d been taking shifts as best they could, he’d constantly been running supplies from Specs to Duke or the other way round, or out finding the herbs Specs asked for, or hunting, because he’d only really had enough food for himself stored away, and now there were three of them going through it. 

He was exhausted, he realized. Exhausted, but he was an expert at hiding vulnerability, even from himself, so he hadn’t realized it until this very moment, when it had sunk so deep into his bones it had shut off the barrier in his mind between things he meant to say and things he meant to take to his grave. 

Duke was saying something, again. But his mind was too fuzzy and slow to really understand, whatever it was, though his eyes looked worried, and he realized dimly that worry was directed towards him, not the fae. He said something, something along the lines of ‘you don’t need to worry about me’, and stepped away, sliding down against the brick of the fireplace, pulling his knees to his chest and burying his head against them with a heavy breath. 

He didn’t know whether he was trying not to scream, or cry, or both, and instead he swallowed it down, deep inside, like he did everything else. He mumbled something that was maybe a request to wake him if they needed anything, before his mind drifted, not quite asleep but not quite aware, caught in that half between place that was all he got as rest went, more nights than not.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emile arrives!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Boom, another chapter!

It was dark. 

It was dark, and deep, and he was lost in it. 

He didn’t know where he was, anymore, everything swirled around him, a kalaidascope of blacks and grays and whites, prisms of light blinding him, before plunging him into the depths. 

He could barely feel his body, anymore. The sense of it was distant, a rope hanging by a single fraying thread, his heart slow and his breathing slower, his connection tenuous at best. He was losing himself. 

He couldn’t remember, as he fell through the world, he couldn’t remember where he was supposed to be, because surely it wasn’t here, surely there was something else, beyond this broken landscape of jagged and sharpness. 

He thought he remembered warmth, something warm, once. He thought he had a name, once, had an identity, had more than this loose swirl of air and senses, and he was sure that something of that had fallen away, as he wandered. 

Yes, he was wandering, lost, over the land. His senses scattered to the seven winds, his soul fraying apart and he didn’t know where he’d even come from, much less how to find his way back. If there was, a way back. 

How long had he been drifting, he wondered idly. The question should worry him, as should the fact that he had no semblance of an answer, but it didn’t. He knew he’d been aware some of the time, and not, other times. He knew that sometimes he could almost feel something, almost a tug, but it was so faint, it was gone before he could follow. 

He was losing awareness, again. The dark was creeping back into the edges of his thoughts, threatening to swallow him whole, and he didn’t think he’d have enough of anything, to escape that maw once again. He didn’t have enough to care, now, that he was fading away to nothing. 

“Virgil.” The voice jolted through him, a lighting bolt straight to the heart, a thunderclap against his ears, a burning against his soul. Virgil. 

Virgil, that was his name. He had a name, and it was Virgil. 

A light, was forming in front of him. A sparkling, glowing light, though it wasn’t blinding, like the other flashes of light, it wasn’t cold and hard and jagged, ready to tear and rip at his seams, it was soft and warm, and something about it was home. 

But the dark was still so dark, and he was so little, against it all, and the light was barely enough to light his way. He wanted to reach out and touch it, wanted to let it circle around him, wanted to breathe it in, but it was so far, and he was already fading, falling behind. 

“Virgil. Come. Back.” He shivered, at the firmness of the voice, and the unbearable softness to it, the gentle fondness, it was a voice he knew, he was sure, one he hadn’t heard in oh so long, one he was nearly sure he’d lost. 

He wanted to answer. He did, but it was so hard, he could barely focus enough to understand what was being said, much less how to form his own words, to reply, but the light was a bit brighter, now, a bit warmer, a bit closer. He couldn’t tell if it was moving, or he was. He wanted to know, who that voice was. It was familiar, it was familiar as breathing, but he couldn’t understand. 

“Virgilius.” He shuddered, then, shoving all his strength into moving towards that whisper, because there was only one person who would call him that, only one who knew that was the name he’d been born with, and Virgil was the one he had chosen to keep, only one who would call to him as that. 

The world swirled, spread thin and wide, as he sped through it, crashing and flying and speeding towards that light, that brilliant warmth, the darkness chasing behind, a wolf on his heels, but he had the will, to outrun it, now. 

And the closer he got, the more aware he became, the more he could feel his body, the more attached he became, until he felt the physical weighing him down once more, until he could feel his arms, his legs, could feel his deep, laboured breathing, could feel his hibernating heart beats, and suddenly the dark and light and twisting landscape was gone, and it was just the dark red light of his closed eyelids. 

There was a hand, squeezing his. Another stroking his forehead. There was an air of expectance, around the room. There was something soft covering him. He was warm, cozily so, and he could hear other voices, other whispers, but they weren’t the shadows, chasing him, they were ones he knew. He tried to do something, squeeze the hand holding his, let them know he was back, he was here, but the attempt failed, dizziness taking hold, letting only a dim whimper escape his lips. 

But it was enough, to silence the voices. He could feel the weight of eyes on him, expectant, afraid, hopeful. 

“Virgil?” It wasn’t spoken, not aloud, instead it rang in his head, and he finally forced his eyes open, because he couldn’t believe it, he couldn’t, he couldn’t-

“Shhh, I’m here, honeybee.” His vision was blurred, but he’d know those deep chocolate eyes anywhere, that soft brown hair tinted with pink, the curves of his face, always soft and warm, he’d know, this man, he’d know him anywhere, even if he hadn’t seen him since he was a child.

“E… mi?” He managed, though it was a mere whisper, tearing at his throat, disbelief and tears pooling in his eyes, as the man, as Emile, it must be, tucked back his hair, a breaking smile on his face. 

“Oh Vee…” Emile’s voice was choked, and he let out a soft sob, somewhere between a wail and a desperate keen, then Emile’s arms were around him, holding him so tightly he could barely breathe, but he was crying so hard he can barely breathe anyways, and he’s dead, He must be, that must be it.

“h… how… em…” 

“You found me. I was hidden away, even from myself. It was powerful binding magic, Vee. But you found me, when you were lost, and wandering, you were losing yourself, and you found me. You broke through.” 

“L…lost..? I…” He couldn’t string together sentences. He couldn’t stay aware, he couldn’t remember, darkness was dancing at the edge of his vision, but he was afraid to slip back into it. “Pl…ease… Emi… I’m sc-scared…” He felt so small. He was back, back in their bedroom, he could feel their hands pinning him down, hot breath on his neck, and was so small, he couldn’t fight this by himself. 

“I’ve got you, honeybee. You don’t worry about a thing, Vee, I’ve got you.” He squeezed his hands against Emile’s shirt, stifled sobs dying down into sniffles as his energy faded. 

‘I won’t let you get lost again. I will always call you home. I promise, Virgilius.’ The words were whispered in his mind, and he let himself sag, all the fight and fear he’d been using to cling to consciousness waning, because Emile promised, and he’d trust a promise from Emile regardless, but he’d sworn using his name, making it near unbreakable. If he were lost, Emile would find him. 

He slipped away.  
…  
Emile pressed his forehead against Virgil’s, cradling his little brother close to his chest, silent tears slipping down his face faster, at that thought, because Virgil was so much taller than him, now, lanky and lithe and pale, like every story book picture of the fae. 

Except for the wings. 

“Oh, Vee, what did they do to you? How could they, how could anyone…” He trailed off, heart breaking for him, for his gentle, soft, broken little honeybee. 

He could feel the barest of ridges, on his back, under his clothes, the remnants of his wings. He had the barest memory, of that night, of his senses being dampened, of telling Virgil to flee, and him fighting instead, he had the barest memories of Virgil’s gut wrenching screams. They’d taken them, cut them off, cruelly and coldly, for the crime of defending his brother. 

Virgil loved to fly. His wings had always been too big for him, he’d never really grown into them properly, but they were so brilliant and beautiful, such a blessing. It was a bit of a genetic lottery, when it came to fae traits, and Virgil had gained wings from it. He’d always thought it was a good thing for him, flying helped soothe Virgil, calm him when nothing else could, the world had always seemed so scary, to him, except when he was flying. He could see it all melt away on Virgil’s face. He’d taught him, to fly, because their parents never had time, and the first time he truly flew was the happiest he’d ever seen him. 

He knew there were others around him. He’d pretty much exploded through the door, aura blazing, magic radiating off of him, he couldn’t dampen it, it had been so long since he’d felt it, his control was loose, and he didn’t have time to care about the cries of alarm that came from the humans in the home, he didn’t care, actually, what they thought, his only focus was Virgil, and calling him back before he was truly lost. 

He’d been so far. It had taken so much, to reach him, to guide him back, and for a few staggering moments he’d thought Virgil didn’t have the strength to make it all the way back, to outrun the darkness nipping at heels, to regain his senses and reconnect with his body. It had taken using his full name, his given name, that he knew Virgil hated, and that itself was terrifying. 

But he supposed it was time to face the music, now. He hadn’t gotten a read on these humans before he’d dove in after Virgil, and though they hadn’t felt like a threat, he wasn’t sure what to expect, after having broken into their home and worked powerful magic without an explanation. 

He warily drew back from Virgil, just slightly, cradling his head close to his chest, keeping him wrapped tightly in his arms, as he looked up, at the humans he could feel staring at him, though they’d had the sense to at least keep a reasonable distance between himself and them, probably safest, given the magic he was using. 

He was surprised to find only trace amounts of alarm on their faces. They looked more shocked, than anything, one of them was bouncing on his feet in excitement, eyes flicking between him, and his companion, who’s shoulder he was squeezing. That one was more uptight, it seemed, surveying him right back with a steady gaze, though he seemed more relaxed and relieved, than anything else, his face drawn from nights of not sleeping. The final human hung back, behind the other two, seemingly conflicted, looking like he wasn’t sure whether he should bolt or stay frozen to the spot. It was little wonder he was so worried, Emile could see the dark in his aura, taste the acridness of death on his tongue, looking at him. And the guilt there, told him Virgil’s dire condition was at least partially his fault, though common logic could have told him that, based on the iron cage that took up part of the space, the faint ring of iron coming from somewhere else, as well, far enough it wouldn’t do damage, but it nudged at his senses. Still, nothing about him read as a threat, so he was content to let it lie, for now. 

His mind was still a bit out of balance, still struggling to put memories back in their proper places and proper order, still matching faces to names to times to places, though the important details, the important information, had all clicked into its proper spot the moment Virgil broke through. It was just the details, it was working on, and he shook his head slightly, to clear it. He needed to be present in the now. 

“Emile?” He focused, at the hesitant, questioning use of his name, it had come from the bouncing one, who’s smile was now almost a grin. 

“Yes.” He replied simply, realizing a moment later he should perhaps question these humans as to how they knew his name. 

“Oh, gods, you’re… he’s… he’s been looking for you, for so long.” The other said quietly, eyes wide. 

“I… how long has it been? It’s…” 

“Roughly twenty years, I believe, from what I have pieced together.” He sucked in a deep breath, shock racing through his system, so long, he’d been gone for so long, and Virgil had been alone, all that time, he’d been alone. 

Well, not entirely alone, perhaps. These two, three? He couldn’t place the role of the third, seemed to be rather loyal, if Virgil had trusted them with his past, they were entirely trustworthy. 

“He’s helped us. Me and Specs. And… and so many others, too many to count. That’s what he does. He looks for you, he saves who he can, and helps were he’s able.” The bouncing one said, answering a question he hadn’t realized he’d asked, or maybe he hadn’t, it had just been written on his face. He took a moment to examine each of them, and now that he was looking, it was obvious. They were all fae touched in some way. 

“thank you. For repaying that debt, then.” The one called specs frowned slightly, shaking his head. 

“That’s not… what this is. He’s our friend, if he needs help, we’ll always come, he just has to ask.” 

“And he doesn’t, does he? He never has, always says he’s fine, even when he’s not.” He sighed fondly, a sad smile twitching up the corner of his lips. “He never has. Always tried to brave the world on his own, even when he was terrified, my sweet boy.” He murmured the last, staring at Virgil’s face, he doubted he’d ever get tired of looking at him.

“What was wrong with him?” He looked up at that, it was the third, now flushed red, looking away. “I m-mean, if that’s alright to ask, I don’t mean to-“ 

“It’s alright. It just… let me think how to explain it.” He hummed, focusing. “It’s like when we use magic. We feel it coil through ourselves, and call on it. And when it’s bigger, we look outwards, through the magic, at the world around us. But if you look too far, you can send your senses wandering. If you don’t have a tether, if you don’t know the way back to your body, you can get lost. The farther from your body you go, the longer you are away, the more sense of self you lose, the more senses you start to lose, until the sense of yourself dissolves completely. He was so far. I didn’t know if I could bring him back to himself.” 

“So… so he’s fine?” the bouncy one asked. He tilted his head. 

“He was sick, yes?” Specs nodded. “He’ll be tired. Weak. But yes, he will be alright.” All three of them seemed to deflate at that pronouncement, tension leaking from the air. 

“Good, that’s… gods, that’s good.” Specs mumbled, pressing his hands to his eyes and taking a shuddering breath. 

“Come on, specs, that means it’s bedtime for you, even if I have to squeeze your neck until you pass out.” Specs grumbled, but allowed himself to be led away, the bouncy one looking over his shoulder and giving the remaining human an unreadable stare, before turning deeper into the small house, presumably a small bedroom. 

“I give you my name, in remcompense for my wrongs. It is Janus Dray.” He felt the shift in power, tasted the magic as it settled, Janus’s face going pale for a moment, or paler than it was, he looked even more exhausted than the other two had. 

“you’re fae touched.” He said, Janus immediately flinching back. 

“Yes.” He answered, sharp and harsh. Bitter. 

“You hurt him.” Janus immediately deflated. 

“yes.” It was a whisper this time, soft and sorry. 

“And what have you been doing, since then?” That got Janus’s attention, his eyes flickered up to him, confusion in them. 

“What?” 

“It’s a simple question. Since you harmed him, what have you been doing?” Janus’s eyes were wary, clearly waiting for the other shoe to drop, for the trick of his words to catch him once he answered. 

“Since Duke and Specs arrived and explained things more fully to me, helping them, however I could, to help him. To… to fix this. Also questioning my entire existence, but that’s not necessarily new.” He muttered, distantly. 

“Well then. I return your name to you, Janus Dray, and consider your debt repaid, given that you’ve already learned and attempted to correct your mistakes.” Janus sagged, confusion and relief warring on his face. 

“You are the strangest fae I have ever met in my life.” 

“Have you met many?” Janus’s face closed off again, his hands curling into fists to hide their shaking. 

“The first ones I met murdered my family and left me for dead. So I’d say I got off on the wrong foot with them. And it continued in that fashion.” 

“I’m sorry.” Janus huffed. 

“So am I.” He replied, a thin smile on his lips, as he turned away, stoking the fire and adding another log, before curling up on the sleeping pallet nearby, passing out almost immediately, unaware of Emile’s contemplative, concerned eyes still on him.


End file.
